


A Small Home Today

by Maesonry



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Humor, One Shot, Oneshot, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Reader-Insert, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: Android scrapyards are easy money. But only if you never, under any circumstances, decide to take one of the androids home. Definitely do not fix the android up. And certainly don’t develop feelings for it.This is the story of one scrapyard scavenger who fails spectacularly at this set of rules, and the discarded android that discovered he wasn’t so expendable after all.
Relationships: Connor & Reader, Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Reader & Gavin Reed
Comments: 11
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a one shot. Might get more chapters, might not. Based off of first mission connor, but based around “what happened to that Connor android if he sacrificed himself?”

November is cold.

November is cold, November is rainy, and November is... November is, statistically, the month with the second highest rate of android’s being discarded. And it’s November now; the calendar fading away in your kitchen tells you that.

So, it’s time to go.

You put on your gaiters, your thick gloves, your bandana, your bag. There’s a heavy clutch of tools tied to your belt, most of them scavenged from the same dumps you go to. It’s familiar, mostly. Like the blue blood staining the tips of your gloves, and the little tune you hum as you kick the front door shut behind yourself. It’s got a key lock- not like those other houses in Detroit, the fancy ones with their electronic doors and their... electronic... doormats. 

The android recycling waste area ™, or just the dump, isn’t very far from your house. It’s technically illegal to go scavenging through it, since it’s still considered Cyberlife property, but there’s never any guards nearby or anything. And they never even do anything with the robots. They just leave them there, then either burn them or bury them. It’s a waste. It’s just... dumb. 30% unemployment? Like hell you’re just gonna starve on the street just because some big corporation decides to call dibs on their trash. 

It’s a nice(ish) day outside too. It’s cold, but it’s not raining. There’s a fresh pile of android junk near the back entrance too, which means you can rummage for some pretty good picks today. Maybe siphon some blue blood, or get some still working biocomponents. Anything you can scavenge and sell is one less meal you have to worry about, and here, meals are slimmer than your chances of not illegally scavenging android parts. 

“It’s so blue here,” you mutter as you step through another pile of. Something. It crunches under your boots, and you slide down the slope of scrap slightly, still cursing. There’s blue everywhere; blue armbands that still flicker, even though their owners must be dead. Limbs that spark and twitch. Maybe- maybe those androids would give the better parts, but you’re too creeped out to even go near them. It’s weird, okay? It’s like they’re still alive somehow. Watching you take out their biocomponents.

Sometimes they sing. Sometimes they blink at you. Sometimes it sounds like they’re crying. It’s _creepy_.

So you mind your own business and stick to what you know, and what you can do. Which, right now, is taking out the eye component of an old AX series. Blue eyes. The left one is gone already, like it was all burned out. The android must’ve been pretty, once; it looks like it was one of those housekeeping bots. What did it do wrong to be thrown out? You don’t think you’d get it. Rich people things, throwing out appliances before they’re even done. You socket the eye out and shove it into your bag, hearing it fall in next to a hand you found and a few plastic containers of blue blood. 

There’s a clatter in the distance. You look up, and shift to look at the source. It’s a moving android- looks like some kind of ghost. You shuck off a breath, and then turn, tumbling awkwardly down the side of the scrapheap. It’s all sharp edges, but your clothes are thicker cotton, and you dig your gloved hands into the side to slow your descent. 

“Shit-“

A thud at the end. You land on your feet, the ground compacted android parts and other scrap metals that have been thrown to the bottom. And this is the very, very bottom. Like a time capsule, but instead of decades, it’s only back a month. Maybe less. Still, the smell is terrible, all acrid and dry. You shove away some of the arms and limbs that fell on you. “Get off, get off!”

The dead legs comply. You shiver as you stand back up, wiping your gloves off on your pants. There’s a new hole in your bag- great. And one of the biocomponents fell out. The thirium pump regulator- one in working order too, remote rare than gold. “Where... there you are. Com’ere.”

You crouch down and reach forward, tucking it into your gloves, and... You stop, frozen in the middle of your movement. There’s an android, half buried in the stack, and it’s staring at you. It’s eyes are brown, and it’s got this face, this face like a kicked dog that’s been thrown into the trash. You recoil and fall back onto the ground, and the android still keeps watching you. Just... staring at you. 

“What the fuck,” you whisper. It’s creepy. It’s creepy, and you want to leave, but it looks pathetic. It can’t even move. You can’t really just leave it there, right? You’ll... you’ll move it out of the stack. At least it’ll be able to die like those weird wandering androids; they seem kind of happy. 

“Hold on. Okay, here we go...” you mutter. There’s dead androids to move off top first, ones with mangled limbs you can’t scavenge, or warped piles of metal that might’ve been something or another, once. “Hold on.” You shove more stuff away. It reveals a black uniform, and who would’ve guessed, but it’s still glowing blue. What’s it say... RK800? “Huh. Never heard of you before, buddy.” 

The android looks in bad shape. Anything in a junkyard usually is in bad shape, at least. You push the last of the scrap off of it, and then stand back to give it some space. It doesn’t move. Is it dead? No, it can’t be. It’s still staring at you. At- at your hand. Oh. The thirium pump regulator. Well. You roll it around in your hand for a second, before sighing and stepping forward. You’re usually the one taking apart the androids, but this one is just... it’s sad, okay? You feel bad. It’s like when a Roomba is tipped over and can’t get back up. You can’t just let the thing sit there. 

“Okay. Stay still, I’m... really bad at this,” you settle on. You sigh as you move his shirt open for a second, before searching its chest for the depression where the regulator should go. And bingo, there it is. The one you take out is crusty, red, blinking angrily at you. The android tenses as you yank it out. It only relaxes when you push the new one in, and when you look up at its face, its eyes are closed. 

“Oh.” You frown. “Are you dead?” You hope that isn’t true. You already went through all this effort, and now you’ve gotten a little attached to the weird, ugly little robot Roomba thing. You turn it’s head to the side, and feel relief when the blue circle thing is still blinking slowly. So just... sleeping. Do androids sleep? It’s weird. 

“Should I just leave you here?” You stare at it. It’s got your brand new thirium pump regulator inside it, and if you leave it here and it does die, someone else might get the thing. Great. And you can’t just... grab it back either. Until it dies. And isn’t that a little morbid? You’ve never watched an android die before. It seems too close to watching a human die. A Roomba never really cries out in pain as it shuts off, and, well, you can’t handle the squeamish stuff too well. So you stare at it, and shift a little, then grunt awkwardly as you finally cave. Time to take the robot with you. Because nothing works better with an android scavenger than keeping an android around as a fixer upper. You haul it onto your back. 

“Well, RK800... you’d better be worth it.” 

At least he’s not heavy. You’re already thinking of how you’re going to work this; he can sleep on the couch, at least. Or do whatever it is androids don’t to rest. You’re certain you have some excess blue blood you can give it, and maybe a few limbs laying around. It’s certainly a unique android, too- why would anyone throw it out? You’ve never seen one like this before. RK800. 

Well, whatever it is, first chance you get you’re giving it some different clothes. These stink. And the blue hurts your eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It somehow got a second chapter. Let’s see if we can get a third too

There’s half an android on your kitchen table. Most of an android. You dust off your hands- which is more of smearing the blood around your gloves. The android is still silent and sleeping, but alive, so. That’s good. Maybe. Or maybe it’s bad, maybe the android was thrown away because it was some kind of murderous defective robot. Or maybe you’re just being stupid. 

The android needs a new leg, is your first observation. Like, a whole leg. And you prod at his other leg too, finding it mostly salvageable, but maybe not fixable. You can fix up toasters and you can fix up cars, but androids are something else entirely. 

But by god, daddy didn’t raise a quitter.

(Though, he did raise a fool. Which, it turns, is a terrible combination.)

“Okay, legs, legs...” You turn and jog into your storeroom. The rows of shelves teeter back and forth as you begin to rummage through them, shoving aside eye components, early memory chips, bits and bobs and nothing useful. You step back and hit the up switch on the wall console, and the shelves rotate with rusty, groaning noises, before coming to a stop. Here’s the legs now; arms, legs, even a torso or two. You grab a handful of legs without checking their serials, and hurry back to your kitchen, dumping them across the counter as you shove pans out of the way. 

The android is still sleeping. Or whatever it is androids do when they dream. You take a moment to look at his clothes; it must’ve been a suit, right? It’s tattered, mostly, like it was torn apart by the wind and a great fall. Like the legs, and the rest of it too. Carefully, you take off the remains of the jacket, the torn undershirt. A coin falls out of the innermost pocket- a quarter. You pick it up and blink. 

“Huh.”

What kind of android has its own... property? Its own stuff. A possession. Even a coin. You shake your head and set it aside, looking back at the android’s chest. The front part is fine, but as you heave him over onto his side, you can see a huge shattering wound across the back. Impact. You set it back down; must’ve fallen from something. Or been pushed. The right arm is a little rough too, might’ve tried to cushion its own fall or something. Nothing you can’t fix(?). Still, the white skin is unnerving, and you feel enough discomfort that you mumble something like an apology as you shuck his pants off to deal with his leg. Or what is left of it. 

Salvaging an android is easy. This is like salvaging in reverse, kind of. Even shares the same steps. You reach up to the top of the leg socket, disengaging it like you’ve done a hundred times before. What remains of a leg comes out easy. This part- well. It’s just the same thing in reverse, right? You scuttle through the legs you have on the counter, comparing the component types. Growing frustrated when you can’t find a match. 

“Some kind of unique android,” you mutter. RK800. Never heard of it before, and this just proves it, doesn’t it? Never heard of it, never salvaged it, and now, can’t find any parts for it. You almost throw his old leg into the pile in aggravation, before inhaling and exhaling sharply. Parts can be swapped for the closest thing. You just... need to get lucky, then. 

And it only takes three tries, too.

The third leg slots in immediately. You respond with joy by launching the useless leg immediately across the room. Congratulations, you’ve just completed what feels like, in retrospect, a plug and play toy. Still, you feel mildly accomplished. You’re washing off your hands from the blue blood just as the android wakes up.

“-l-o-“

You drop the rag into the sink. True, the sound was a mess of static, but it means the android is awake. You spin to face it. Brown eyes peer back at you, the little led flashing red dangerously. His white android plating is slowly covered by human skin, creeping up the sides of his face, letting you see- for a moment- what his likeness was designed to be. Before, just as suddenly, the effect disappears, and the android is white once more. More stressed than before too. Shit. Androids being stressed is a very bad thing, you know that much. Quick.

“Hey. Hey, woah, it’s okay. Everything’s cool,” you assure. Still red. You grab a bottle of salvaged blue blood from the counter, holding it up. “Here- bl- thirium. Here, let me...” You tilt the bottle up to its mouth. Half of the blood is gone in a breath, and then you set it back onto the counter, looking at the android. It opens its mouth once, then twice.

“Who- are you?” A crackling voice manages. It sounds human. Human, in a distressingly inhuman shell. But it’s the first time in a long time anyone’s asked your name, too. Still, you shake your head.

“Everyone calls me Popcorn. That’s it.”

Real names aren’t for here. No one like you uses them anyone; makes it too easy to get attached. And, well. The children you give the fixed up toys to like to call you Pop. This one stuck. “You’re in my garage, I hauled you out of an android recycling center.”

The android goes red again. Right, hold on- gentle. Not blunt. This is why you have no friends, god damnit. 

“Easy- I fixed you up a little. I have plenty of parts around here and plenty of time- you’ll be fine soon, yeah? Don’t worry...” You trail off as you realize it doesn’t have a name. RK800 hardly is one. So you look at him, and purse your lips. “What’s your name, anyway?”

The red swaps to yellow.

“Connor.”

You hand him the remaining blue blood you have out. “Technically illegal for you to even be here, but, ‘s not lot the police give a shit about what I do. Here, I have more in the back.”

Connor accepts the drink gratefully, the light settling on blue. It’s weird to see something like relief on its face, especially on an android. You see it flex the new leg curiously. 

“It work?”

Connor nods. “Yes. Thank you for repairing me. I’m lucky to even be functional at all.”

You gesture to where you threw the old leg. “Barely. What happened to you?”

Silence. Then, a murmur. “I... don’t remember.”

An amnesiac android too. Well, you shake your head. “Listen; it’s gonna take a while for me to finish fixing you up, so maybe you’ll be able to remember what happened then. Just... don’t get in my way, okay? I still have work to do around here.”

Connor seems to notice the pile of android legs on the counter at that. He looks to you after a moment. “You’re a salvage worker.”

Huh. “Yeah, I am. How’d you figure?”

“Your hands- they still have old thirium traces, which combine with those on your pants. Couple that with the location of your home, the android components, and your tool belt. A salvager.”

You lean back. “Y’know, you’re pretty smart. Whoever threw you out made one hell of a dumb mistake.”

Then, you turn back to the counter to begin cleaning up. Before you leave the room, though, you turn around once more and hand it the coin from inside the coat. “Here. You had this on you from before.” Then, you turn and leave the room, pile of legs in hand. Unseen to you, the android looks out the window and stares at the scrapyard, face pensive. His led flickers yellow as he, almost absently, flips the coin up and down.


	3. Chapter 3

The day passes. You return late from one last salvage run, your bag full of components and parts, small tools you figured would be useful, and bloody hands. Blue blood, crusted under the tips of your fingers. Your gloves are shoved into your belt; they were too thick for the fine mechanical work you did. Which means, taking apart the backs of ruined androids and trying to see how they work. How to fix one. What parts can be slotted and shoved where. You feel like you know just a little bit more than before. 

When you come back, the android is still on the table. It’s sleeping now, or close enough to sleep, and the blue blood you left is mostly gone too, which seems good. But you kind of need your table back sometime soon. You lean down and shuffle your arms under the sleeping android, picking it up and carrying it over to the couch. The couch has been stained too many times already, so a little bit more blue blood won’t hurt it. You lay the Connor down and, in a moment of self consciousness, throw a blanket over him too. 

That night, you dream of electric sheep.

When you wake up, you’ve nearly forgotten you’ve adopted an android- until you stumble into the kitchen and see him staring at you. 

“Jesus, you scared me,” you roll your eyes, going over to the cupboards. “What do you want for breakfast? We have blue blood and we got thirium.”

Connor makes a noise like calibrating. “Those are the same thing.”

“‘S a joke. I know, I’m hilarious.” You reach down and grab one of the salvaged bottles again, grabbing a protein shake too and walking over to the sofa. “Here.” You give Connor his drink, then crack yours open and lean across the back of the sofa as you drink it. The android seems confused, but says nothing, and you both quietly have breakfast.

“Let’s see what’s on tv,” you grunt, reaching over to grab the remote. The android stands up to grab it as well. You shoot him a confused look. He mirrors it. 

“Allow me,” he says. You quirk an eyebrow.

“It’s right here, calm down.” You pluck the remote out of the recesses of the sofa. “I’m not gonna have you run around and grab stuff when you’re still injured,” and you mutter, “too much cleanup too.”

Connor stills. You reach over and push him back down by the shoulders. “Sit.”

God, he’s like a beanpole.

“My programming dictates-“

And now, you really do roll your eyes. “Channel five,” you speak into your remote. The news comes on after a moment. You spend a few minutes watching it scroll by, shifting your weight around. Unemployment is up again. You crinkle the protein shake bottle, before stepping back. 

“Alright, Connor. Lemme take a look at your back.” Immediately, the android starts stripping. You balk, a remark on your tongue. What are you gonna say, tell it to get changed somewhere else? It’s just a machine. Still though. “Woah, hey. Go- go into my room and do that. And pick out some clothes from my closet to wear.”

Connor stops, jacket halfway off. You shrug in the direction of your room. 

“My protocols dictate I have to wear identifying attire in public to showcase that I am an Android.”

You wave your hand flippantly. “My house, my rules. No weird glowing clothing here. Makes you look like a holographic trading card.”

He starts walking to the room, then turns to you again. “What clothing should I avoid?”

“Uh.” You think about it. “The underwear? I don’t know. Just pick some clothes, it’s fine.”

Evidently, to Connor, this is not fine. But, he doesn’t voice his objections, and instead disappears into your room. Several minutes later, he reappears, wearing a hoodie from Hotdog Frank’s and some grungy cargo shorts. You tilt your head back a little.

“The Hotdog Frank’s hoodie?” You squint. Connor panics.

“If I need to go back and change-“

“Nah, just fucking with you,” you snort. “Looks great. Take the hoodie off so I can your back, yeah?”

And it ain’t a pretty sight at all. The android looks like it’s been through hell, came back, then went right back to hell a second time. Evidentially, the people who threw it out didn’t really care about fixing any damages. Most of the back is blown open, and in the light of the day, you get a clear view of the damage. Front and center you can see the thing’s spine, exposed edges and dark blues. Wires snake up and around it, and you curse low. Just like you practiced, huh?

“Don’t they give you guys a manual on how to fix yourselves?”

“No. Cyberlife wishes to ensure our lack of autonomy to decrease the chance of deviancy.”

“Awful lotta words for them just being dicks, Connor.”

You pull out a few tools from your belt. Connor dutifully remains completely still, even as you begin to poke and prod around inside him, a small flashlight in between your teeth. 

Some of the work is easy. Really easy. It’s just putting plugs back in to sockets. But more and more of it starts to become more difficult. Wires need soldered. Wires need tied off and stripped. Entire sections are just gone. You’re flying blind; you spent all of yesterday practicing, but now that you’re actually doing it, it’s not nearly as easy. You’ve got your arms elbow deep into Connor when someone knocks at the door.

“Detroit Police, open up!”

You roll your eyes. “Kick a dick, Gavin. Get in here or stop scaring away my customers.”

The door opens, and your brother walks in. He’s still decked out in his uniform, but for him, that just means a shitty jacket and a badge. Same dumb grin your little brother’s always had, too. You turn your attention back to Connor, and note that his little LED flickered yellow.

“What customers? The birds?”

“Totally Cyberlife pigeons. They buy all my components,” you grunt as you force a wire back in place, “in bulk.”

“Greatest con in Detroit, selling them their own shit back.”

One of the wires shocks you. Fuck.

Gavin steps over to you, hovering and rubbernecking. “This is the first time I’ve seen you with a real android. What, this one your sexbot or something?”

He’s in perfect dick kicking range. You’re generous, so you go for the knee instead. “You were dropped too much as a baby. No, I just found this one and decided to fix it up.”

“Awww, you got a Roomba.”

“Uhuh. Any other nuggets of insight for me, or is that all you’re here for?”

It’s not that you dislike your little brother, it’s just that... neither of you get on very well. There’s a reason you live near a scrapyard and go by your nickname Popcorn, instead of trying to do what your brother did and live up to his image. Gavin shifts around a little, before sighing.

“There’s been some android murders around here. Thought I’d warn you.” 

“Android murders? Didn’t think you cared about androids,” you hum. 

“Not the fuckin’ androids- it’s _them_ killing people. And you live next to a landfill full of the fucks.” Gavin gestures rudely out your window. You feel Connor twitch under your hands. “And you’re even fixing one up right now! This plastic prick could turn on you in a second, you know that, right?”

You bite back a retort too, something to continue the back and forth. No. Gotta be the bigger man here- it’s why you’re the older sibling. You sigh. “I get it, Gav. I’ll be careful, ‘kay? Swear.”

Gavin seems mollified by that. He stuffs his hands in his jacket, then sighs. “Yeah. I know you’re careful, just- be more careful, okay? Okay. Yeah, it’s gonna be okay.”

You exchange a few more words. Promises to see each other again soon, the usual, the prettier lies. He’s the only family you have left now- you should want to spend time with him. But you don’t. It’s easier to be Popcorn. And so Gavin leaves, and you’re still standing there with your hands stuck inside Connor. Thinking. 

“Your stress levels are elevated,” Connor notes. His voice is oddly calming. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

“Huh? No, no. I just...” you tie a wire off and then stop. “Y’know, never meet your family, Connor. If you’ve got any brothers or whatever out there- it’s not worth it. Stick to yourself instead.”

Connor is silent as you work. After a few minutes, he speaks again, his voice quieter, tentative. “Why does speaking time your brother cause you distress?”

You curse. Connor balks. But before he can get to apologize, you beat him to it. “No, yeah, you’re right. It’s a long story. It’s- when you’re the loser of the family and he’s the shining star, y’know? The usual drama. Mommy and daddy didn’t like me as much as they liked him, blah blah...” You tie some wires together. “He gets the nice job, I become a scab, then mom and dad die to a-“

You stop. Look at the wall a little, then blink, just barely stopping yourself from rubbing your bloodied hand over your face. You sigh explosively. “They died to an android. Some freak accident they say, whatever. I don’t care. But Gavin does. So he visits; too much.”

And hates androids more than the next guy. Still, you finish up one more set of strands inside Connor, before stepping back and wiping your hands. “I got a good chunk done. I think you should be good enough to help out in the scrapyard tomorrow if you want to; always good to have extra eyes down there.”

Your android tentatively flexes his arm, rotating his body and testing his back. Whatever he finds, it must be adequate, because then you see a small smile and a decisive nod. “Whatever I can do to help.”

You smile back. Well, maybe rescuing this android wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call that a surprise Gavin  
> I like writing him. He sucks. I love explaining why he does the stuff he does because David Cage certainly didn’t do. My house my rules


End file.
